me and miss america (m)

1984.  I was working for a major packaged goods company in Boston which was one of the sponsors of The Miss America Pageant.  Each year, one lucky brand assistant got to be in charge of leveraging our association with the pageant to promote our "beauty care" products....home perms, hairspray, shampoo and conditioner.

This was the year it fell on me.

 Vanessa Williams--the first African American winner-- had just been de-throned because of the obscene photos of her which ran in Penthouse magazine (pre-Miss America days, of course).  So, in order to do damage control and restore the image of the pageant, the officials and judges chose a woman they thought would be beyond reproach....someone so squeaky clean that there would be no possibility of a scandal during her reign.  They chose a nice Mormon girl. 

During the photo shoot in New York (print ads, promotional materials like those  coupon inserts in your Sunday newspapers), I got to spend a lot of time with our country's newest beauty queen.  She was perfectly nice, but boring as sin.  We parted company in New York and I was grateful to not have to smile, watch my language and apply lip gloss every ten minutes (you really have a nice smile, and the gloss will help bring it out she said to me).  I thought I had seen the last of her.

A few weeks later, the office was all abuzz.  "Miss America is here and she's stopping to take photos with everyone!  C'mon!!!" said my co-workers.  I hid in the bathroom for awhile and left only when I thought the coast was clear.  I walked out of the bathroom and Bang!  I bumped right into her.  "There you are," she said, "I've been looking for you!"

So, we took the picture...the two of us.  She was holding my arm because she thought I was a flight risk.  She is blonde, I'm brunette.  She was wearing a white crocheted dress (which looked like something my grandmother had on her bureau under the Infant of Prague statue) and I had on a black cashmere t-shirt dress by Ralph Lauren ($19.  I got it at Marshall's)...but we both are the same size.  Click.  The picture gets taken.

When my Weight Watchers leader told me to visualize my goal, I thought of that picture.  It's my favorite picture of me.